We're so sorry . . . Uncle Albert!

“We’re so sorry . . . . Uncle Albert, We’re so sorry, if we caused you any pain. . ."

In the summer of 1971, two very pivotal events happened in my world, that of an eight year old. First, my Dad began leasing a Cadillac luxury car with each and every new model year to impress his business clients. His work was in the music business, wheeling and dealing, selling musical instruments and equipment from major vendors to individual mom and pop music stores in the greater Detroit area. Secondly, he began to let me come along for occasional, quick car trips to visit local music shops. I don’t know if it was to give my mom a break from me, or if my Dad just wanted a bit of company as he would travel to different storefront shops to drum up some business (excuse the pun). Regardless of my Dad’s real reasons to let me join him, I didn’t much mind. We would take off on an adventure in a new car with me riding in my designated backseat on the passenger side, directly opposite of my driving Dad. It made me feel special to travel in that car, smell the new car smell and see the scenery fly by as I looked out of the window.

The first car that he leased was golden in color with two fin-tails in the back. It was a 1971 Cadillac Coupe De Ville with the buttery colored fabric seats inside. I remember sitting in the backseat and feeling that I was in the biggest car I had ever hope to be in. It was most likely the most expensive car ever made, or at least so I thought. On the first night that it arrived in our driveway, my five year old younger sister and I were invited to pile into the back seats for our first ride as my Dad held open the door for us. It was summer time and we were barefoot. The carpet on the car floor felt luxurious to our toes and the smell of the new seats made us feel proud, like our family had finally hit the big time. “This must be how the rich kids and their families drove around town”, I whispered, leaning toward my sister. Before he closed the door, my Dad bent over and looked at us square in the eyes with a serious face. “Do not make any messes or put any marks in his new car. This car is here for business. There will not be any dirt, smudges or other messes made in this car. Understand?” With our backs pinned against the high back seats and our feet dangling over the new carpeting and floor mats on the floor, my sister and I nodded. We were to be very careful while in his new car.

After that initial ride, I soon made discoveries about the car that made it even more magical than luxurious. There was a little small metal door on the door handle console that I could pop open. I am sure it was for cigarette ashes. There was a little pull down arm in between my sister’s seat and mine that our Barbies could sit on and ride like queens. Just behind the backseat of the Cadillac was the most amazing feature of the car, or at least the only feature I truly cared about. Behind the top of the back seats and going all the way back to the sloping rear window was a sea of golden brown metal woven texture netting – it was the cover of the back seat radio speakers. The mesh complimented in color to the creamy yellow of the seats, perhaps only a touch darker. The car speakers and their covering mesh ran the width of the car. Sometimes I would face backwards, get on my knees to look out the beautiful big rear window as the path toward our destination flew behind. On occasion, when my Dad would park the car in front of a music store, he would leave the engine on while he went in to do his business. The radio was also left on. It was time to play my favorite game.

While he was inside the store, I would move out of my seat, turn to face the back window by kneeling on the buttery leather seats. I could reach over the seat and put my hands flat on the sea of mesh to feel the music pounding through while the speaker as it was played. It felt like little pops of air that hit the mesh when music was played. It was fun to try to guess which side of the speaker would pound next during a song, as it had stereo speakers. It was a game to see if I could place my hand on the correct side of the screen before the bass would hit a note. My father would only let me play my game while the car was in park, but every now and then, when we were on a long drive, while seated facing forward, I would try to sneak my left arm up high over my head and over the seat to see if I could reach the beat.

The real trick of the game was to have my Dad pick the right music station to play, like a rock and roll station. He frequently listened to big band music or Frank Sinatra or something he felt that was redeemable from all the loud and raucous music of the day. The charm to my game would be for the radio station to play the right kind of song, that had a good beat. In the era of soft rock and the rise of groups like Bread, America, and The Carpenters, their melodies and acoustics didn’t provide much fodder for my speaker & hand game. How I longed for the station to play something to give me a challenge to guess where the mesh would pound next.

“Hands across the water . . . hands across the sky!“

One day, during one of my Dad’s business stops, the radio station played Paul McCartney’s new song “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey”. This song seemed worthy for my game – I was going to try to outwit Paul’s bass playing. After one try, it became my favorite song, one where I couldn’t wait to hear it again on the radio. It started slowly, but built up as the song went along. The bass notes were like marching beats, rhythmic and constant, hitting the speakers with blasts. The thunder storm sound effects in the middle section of the song were fun to predict as well. The beats became more pronounced and unpredictable in the second half of the song, then the stereo sound kicked in and the beats would go back and forth between the two speakers. My hand went right over left like a piano player, to try to reach the two sides of the speakers, trying to beat Paul to the musical punch. Sometimes I would cheat and put both hands on each speaker and hold them, waiting for the vibration but that was less fun. This song was played a lot on the radio so I could get in a lot of practice, practice trying to beat Paul at his own game.

On another trip, my father left the car engine running while he was inside visiting a music store so he could conduct some business. He left me inside in the backseat to listen to the radio, thus would start my little game. On the way, he stopped to get cigarettes at a convenience store. He came back to the car with a present for me – a tiny roll of lifesavers – those little multi-colored round candies with a hole in the center. Yum! There were only five candies in the roll and as my Dad took the first one, I settled in the backseat to enjoy the rest during the ride. As he parked outside music store, his visit was long enough for me to consume three of lifesavers, slowly, letting them melt away to nothing in my mouth as I played my game along the speakers behind the back seat. The last one, a yellow candy, was left in the roll. I made a decision with my cherished last lifesaver. I took the yellow candy out of its package and placed it in a carefully on the mesh car speaker, just center and behind the back seat. My hope was that my sister wouldn’t find it when we got home and it would stay there safe until I could retrieve it later. Just as I put my candy plan into action, my Dad hopped into the car. I quickly slid back into my seated position and off we drove for home, leaving my candy to ride on the speaker.

In the days after that ride, I forgot about my last lifesaver and it remained resting on the mesh speaker screen behind the back seat. Days went by. The sun shining through the back window did not relent and the summer heat beat down through the speaker cover until the lifesaver melted into the mesh fabric. A few days later on my next ride, I hoped into the backseat to retrieve my special treat only to gasp and pull my hand to my mouth. Instead of a perfectly formed yellow lifesaver waiting for me to savor, I saw a melted candy circle mess, on my Dads new speakers, in his brand new Cadillac. I slid and sunk down into the seat, sitting the right way, with my legs dangling off the seat just above the floor mats. My face hung low as I thought of how much trouble I was in now. My Dad’s new car was ruined and it was my fault. I was frozen with fear in my seat, guessing what would happen when he would find out that I was careless and left the candy someplace where it shouldn’t have been. As we left for the ride, I thought about how every business man who would be drive with my Dad would see the mess I had left behind as the trees flew by looking out the window.

My Dad stopped the car in the parking lot of a music store, grabbed his cigarettes and told me to wait. He left the engine on and the radio playing Sammy Davis, Jr’s new song “The Candyman”. I didn’t much care to hear that song right about now – especially since my candy was now the ruin of my Dad’s new special car. It seemed like God was punishing me by playing that particular song at that particular moment. I didn’t feel much like playing my formerly happy game along the back seat speaker. But a plan came to mind. I knelt on the leather back seat anyways, turning to face back to see if I could fix things. Surely, if I tried carefully and quickly, I could remove the candy and my Dad would never ever know, the businessmen would never see it! But hard as I tried, only the surface sticky part came off under my nails as I carefully scratched away the melted round circle on the speaker cover. The evidence however still remained behind. A shadow of a small circle, now about the size of a half dollar was still evident. If you knelt on the back seats, faced backward and looked down, you could see it on the mesh just behind the head rest.

I froze in terror to see that my plan wasn’t working. I could hear my heart beating inside as I took a peek over my shoulder to the window of the store. My Dad was still talking with the music shop owner, leaning on his right elbow and arm on the display case, laughing and smoking a cigarette. My finger nails were now sticky as I tried with both hands to remove the candy and I now, I had nothing to wash them with. Resolving to defeat, I turned around, slid back in the back seat, facing forward in the car and awaited for his return. I was dead now, he would kill me over this offense, and I deserved it. My tears slipped down over my rosy cheeks as I carefully held my hands in my lap so they wouldn’t touch the new leather seats, for fear I would make things worse than they already were.

My Dad walked back from the store visit and must have known that something was wrong. His normally bouncy daughter was anything but bouncy and holding her hands in her lap like a perfect angel. He asked what was wrong as he opened the driver’s door. I broke down and I told the truth between sobs, that I had done something bad, I was at fault and that it had to do with his brand new beautiful car and the back speaker. He came around to the driver side back door, opened it, kneeled on the seat to take a look. I took my left hand and raised it up and over the seat to point out my mistake. I faced and looked forward out the window, I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his face.

Even though I was too afraid to look, I probably missed the huge smile on his face when he saw that it was only a small mishap, one that only a small child, kneeling on the seat facing backward could actually see. It had been carefully removed on the screen as best as only a pair of tiny finger nail could etch it away. He said nothing, climbed out of the car, closed the door then jumped into the front seat to drive. I peeked through my bangs to see if he was going to turn back and shout or reprimand me for my poor decision making. He didn’t. He simply put the car in gear without a word and we were soon on our way home, in silence.

“We’re sorry . . . if we caused you any pain.”

At home, I immediately marched myself upstairs without direction, assuming that it was a “no dinner night” for me due to my offense. I could hear my parents talking downstairs but couldn’t make out what they were saying . . . all I could hear was my heart about to beat out of my chest, much like the bass playing I had heard and felt in my hands during the song “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey”.

In the days to come, not much was said about what happened in the car on that ride. I stopped playing my game on the back speaker in my Dad’s car, too afraid to relive my shame to see the candy mark that it made. Next time I was invited for a car ride, I took a small bag with colored pencils and writing tablet so I could put my energy into drawing pictures of the scenes I could see outside my backseat window, as I faced forward and looked at the landscape rushing by. A year or so later, the yellow Coupe De Ville was traded in for a newer model, silver colored Cadillac with black top and cloth seats. My days of playing my hand game on the speakers were over.

“And we’re so easy called away . . . “

Since then, I have heard “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey” a gazillion times and probably have three or four versions of it on my IPod. It is one of my favorite songs of 1970’s. When I hear the down beat of the bass part during its introduction, the memories all comes flooding back. The warmth of the sun as it hit a yellow Cadillac back window, the softness of new car carpeting and the familiar pounding of the bass part that Paul was playing, and to feel the bass blasts through the back speaker mesh. The only thing missing is the Lifesavers. I thought a lot about that as I was waiting in Wrigley field this summer, for an evening concert with 44,000 others. I looked up in the star-lit sky above the ballpark, thinking that my Dad, his car and those lifesavers really weren’t missing. After all, I was in a venue named after man who had a lot to do with candy. So as the concert played on, by the man himself who wrote a wonderful song years ago, I lifted my head to the starlit sky, say thank you to my Dad, now in heaven, for not chewing me out (excuse the pun) over my little transgression in 1971.